


Braided

by fredbassett



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: There are times when Bilbo is not as silly as Thorin once thought.





	Braided

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dunderklumpen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dunderklumpen/gifts).



> A companion piece to [Barbed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1143030) but can be read as a standalone.

“Have you been dragged through a briar patch backwards?” Bilbo’s voice held faint admonition, as though talking to a child who had presented itself with torn clothing, scratched knees and wild hair.

“I do not recall a briar patch, but this has not been the most uneventful of journeys, so maybe there was one and I simply failed to notice.” Thorin looked up at Bilbo and allowed the faintest of smiles to curve his lips. “Take the weight off your leg, Master Hobbit. I do not wish to see you spoil my fancy needlework.”

“Dwalin said it resembled the edging on an old pony-blanket.”

“Dwalin is not known for his appreciation of fine stitching. Sit down, lest you fall down.” Thorn waved his hand to the wooden bench next to him. He had come to take the air outside Beorn’s hall, enjoying its cool caress as he stared up at a velvet black sky set with myriad flaming stars.

Bilbo made a harrumphing noise in his throat, but sat down on the smooth wood. “There is a bird’s nest in your hair, Master Dwarf.”

“I enjoy the company of birds. Why the obsession with my hair?”

“Standards,” Bilbo said airily. “Standards must be maintained.” He pulled half a broken comb from his pocket. “Turn around. You surely cannot enjoy sleeping with twigs sticking into your head.”

Thorin was tempted to remark that he couldn’t remember when he’d last slept, but bit back the words. 

Bilbo lightly swatted Thorin on the arm. “Turn around or I will dance a jig and put your handiwork to the test.”

Thorin muttered darkly, but did as he’d been bidden, even though turning his back on anyone went very much against the grain. Bilbo had a wide streak of stubbornness, and Thorin had no mind to put his threat to the test. Only the previous day, he’d removed a barbed goblin arrow from the hobbit’s thigh. It was too soon for jigs, and too soon for them to continue their journey. The company needed rest, and Beorn’s hall provided the closest they’d come to safety for a long time.

Behind him, nimble fingers went to work plucking the twigs from Thorin’s hair. Bilbo was correct. It appeared half the forest had found its way there. Thorin smiled wryly in the darkness and took a sip of their host’s rich blackberry wine, letting the flavour burst on his tongue as his hands cradled the metal goblet. When Bilbo was satisfied that he had removed anything that shouldn’t be there, he started to pick gently at the worst of the tangles. Thorin couldn’t remember when he’d last had the time or inclination to care for his appearance and although he would have sooner sewn his own lips shut than admit it, he found himself starting to relax into the hobbit’s touch, enjoying a moment of rare and unlooked-for intimacy.

Bilbo was far gentler than the tangles deserved, and proved to be as patient as any dwarf at the task he’d set himself. The battered comb never came into play. Bilbo simply teased at each strand of hair until every snarl yielded to his insistent fingers. No words passed between them, but after a while, Thorin realised that Bilbo was humming as he worked, the sound barely louder than the wind in the trees. The tune was recognisable as the dwarven song that had been sung so long ago in the hole under the hill, when the hobbit had first heard the tale of how the dwarves had been driven from their ancient home. That song was woven into Thorin’s bones, but hearing the haunting melody on Bilbo’s lips, it was as if he was hearing it anew.

Thorin listened, and Bilbo hummed. The hobbit’s long fingers carded through his hair now, massaging Thorin’s scalp, ridding him of the headache he had carried for so long that he had almost forgotten what it was to be without pain.

“You have healing hands, Master Hobbit,” Thorin said, his voice rough in his throat. He took another mouthful of wine to ease the passage of words between them.

Bilbo stroked Thorin’s hair back from his forehead and combed his fingers through the tresses that Thorin had once taken such pride in, but those days were long gone, and he knew his once black hair was now shot with silver.

“Birds’ nests and thorns make ill travelling companions. You had half a pine forest in there. It can’t have been comfortable.”

“You have made a whole flock of birds homeless.”

Bilbo’s fingers ran through his hair again, lingering on the nape of his neck and gently needing taut muscles. “Don’t be difficult. There are plenty of trees here to provide alternative accommodation.”

Then the long-fingered hands were gone, and Thorin barely stifled a groan at their loss.

“Stay still,” Bilbo instructed, and a moment later, he was sitting astride the bench, facing Thorin. “And stop hogging that wine.” 

Thorin opened his eyes to face Bilbo’s smiling face. The hobbit’s innate cheerfulness was one of the things that endeared Thorin to him the most. Despite his love of the good things in life, Bilbo had proved to be a remarkably uncomplaining companion. There was a core of iron under the soft exterior, although it had taken Thorin a while to realise that.

He proffered the goblet to Bilbo and watched the hobbit drink. The sharing of the same vessel was intimate but nowhere near as intimate as the care Bilbo had taken to rid his hair of its many snarls. For all his book-learning, the hobbit was not to know that. Hobbits were by nature sociable creatures and maybe for them, such things were of little import.

“Blackberry,” Bilbo said, his tongue chasing a stray drop around his lips. “I have some in my cellar, but none so fine as this. I wonder if our host will divulge the recipe.” He handed the goblet back to Thorin. “Come now, let me finish what I have started.”

Before Thorin could ask what the hobbit had in mind, Bilbo reached up and separated a hank of hair on the right side of Thorin’s head, before proceeding to separate that into three thinner strands. He then expertly plaited them together to form a long, thin braid. He tied the end with a thin leather thong and then sat back to admire his handiwork.

Thorin’s breath caught in his throat. The hobbit could have no idea of the significance that braiding hair carried amongst Thorin’s people. There was no way Bilbo could know…

Bilbo deftly swiped the wine goblet and took another drink, before pressing it back into Thorin’s hands.

“Much better,” Bilbo said with quiet satisfaction. “Now stay still while I finish.”

Thorin gave in to the temptation to close his eyes and pretend that this meant more than it did. Bilbo’s fingers ran through his hair again with a lover’s sure touch. He was close enough for Thorin to feel his warm breath, and the rich aroma of the wine hung in the air between them.

When Bilbo had tied off the second braid, Thorin felt him draw away, and he opened his eyes to see Bilbo smiling a gentle smile of simple pleasure.

Thorin raised the goblet to his own lips and took a sip of the wine then held it up to Bilbo’s lips, tilting it in mute invitation. Bilbo drank. There was no mistaking the intimacy now.

When Thorin lowered the goblet, Bilbo leaned forward and brushed a light kiss to his lips. “Do you think I am totally ignorant of the ways of dwarves, my friend?”

Thorin raised his eyebrows questioningly.

Bilbo smiled, and it spoke of honey and warmth. “Some of our company are not quite as discreet as they might think and, contrary to popular belief, I am not entirely dull-witted. You touched your lips to the back of my hand yesterday, and today I have combed and braided your hair. That makes us even, I believe.”

“You kissed my lips, that puts you ahead.”

Bilbo smiled. “I did. And my head is still attached to my shoulders. From that, I deduce that perhaps I might be allowed to do so again.”

Thorin’s own lips curved into a smile. “You are not so silly as I might first have thought, Bilbo Baggins, and you are by no means as soft as I once believed, either.”

“Thorin Oakenshield, I do believe that a compliment might lurk somewhere in those words.”

Thorin placed the goblet of wine carefully on the ground. “You believe correctly, my dear hobbit.”

It was some while before they spoke again, and even longer before they finished the blackberry wine, while all above them, the stars sparkled in a black velvet sky.


End file.
